A Flickering Light In This Bleak World
by definitelywalkerbait
Summary: What if this time he was too far gone, too far lost for her to find him and bring him back? Set right after 3x15. Multi-Chapter. Disclaimer: The Walking Dead belong to Robert Kirkman and AMC. No copyright infringement intended. REPOSTED. UPDATED.
1. Alone

_**Hey, everyone!**_

_**I owe you a thousand of apologies for the way I treated this story… I published almost a chapter per day for a week and then completely abandoned it for over a month. I'm truly sorry for that.**_

_**Thing is I was completely blocked after the season finale and had no idea where to go with this. **_

_**I decided to delete it and post it from the beginning. Those of you who have read it, please bother to read a second time, the language is much better with minor alterations overall. **_

_**To be very clear and honest with you, I have made a plan of the entire story to avoid falling in the same trap again. Therefore I know how it will play out. It's going to be very dark, with flickering lights of hope, as the title suggests. I will update twice a week, this time for sure :)**_

_**So, if you want to give me a chance, I promise the second time I'll worth it.**_

_**Enjoy!**_

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The sun was setting when he came back.

They had all pretty much put together the pieces of Michonne's story about what had happened but no one knew what to say or what to expect so they spent most of the day exchanging worrisome glances, desperately trying not to mention the ominous feeling hanging in the air.

Carol had run to keep watch at the gate immediately. She wanted to be the first one to meet him when he came back. _If_ he came back. Not knowing what to expect she kept scanning through the woods with wild eyes for what seemed like an eternity. Would he come back? What had happened to him and Merle? Why would they get themselves caught in the middle of this suicide mission? What if they took off again, this time for good? Even worse, what if… She didn't even know if they were alive, for Christ sakes! If _he_ was alive! She felt dizzy and nauseated, not quite sure if she could survive him leaving her again without a word. Curling her fingers around the wire, she hung her head, wishing her options were not limited between death and abandonment, desperately fighting back the lump in her chest. All she was asking for was a third path, with Daryl alive and back to them; the rest they would figure out.

When Glen and Maggie came to relieve her, she refused to leave. Heading inside the prison would drive her crazy right now. Rick's spooked expression, uncoordinated eyes flickering around staring at the distance something invisible to the rest of them, Hershel's stoic prayers, Judith's wailings, Carl's blank face in sharp contrast with his tender age, Beth's pleading eyes always looking to her for advice, Michonne's loaded silences. They were her beloved, makeshift family, but if she had any more of this right now she would probably reach her breaking point. So, when the young couple broke the news of their imminent wedding to her she smiled gently, hugged them tight and wished them all the best like a robot, no real joy reaching a heart overwhelmed by fear and anguish for his destiny. And when Glen started blurting excuses under Maggie's guilty gaze for the way they had treated Daryl's attempt for reconciliation with Merle, she interrupted him abruptly stating that they had every right to feel the way they did.

Watching them finally marching away, holding hands, she exhaled her relief. At least she was alone again. The chilly breeze was clearing her head, helping her to keep her attention away from the deafening screams of echoing inside her head or the sound of the ragged breaths escaping her lungs. But nothing could simmer down her inner turmoil, scorching her inside out. _Where are you?_ She leaned heavily against the gate, the cold metal digging in her fingers as she gritted her teeth to forcefully will a grain of self composure, clinging to the irrational hope that nothing bad, nothing irrevocably disastrous had happened.

Yes, any moment now, they would both appear behind the trees. The Dixon brothers, what a magnificent sight they usually were! Yes, they would probably be bloodied, dirty and pissed like hell at each other as always and it would be hard to tell how many of their bruises, cuts and wounds were caused by the soldiers of Woodbury or by a fight that started out of nothing between them. Yes, they would be puffing and grunting and glaring at her but they would be behind the safety of their solid walls and her heart would resume its normal beating. They would come back safe and sound and everything in this god forsaken world would be right again.

She instantly knew when her eyes caught his distant figure. The way he was dragging his legs, like every step was a painful battle he had to fight, the way his crossbow was swinging sluggishly from his shoulders… She just knew. All hope abandoned her, shattered in infinite tiny fragments. Pain gripped her heart as he covered the distance between them, not even once raising his head to look towards her.

When he approached the gate and she was able to have a better look of him, her heart dropped even more. He was covered in blood, head bowed, eyes red-rimmed and swollen, shoulders hunched, jaw clenched, hands fisted. Rage and sorrow radiated from every inch of his body. Never had she seen him so defeated, like he didn't know what to do with himself. His body was a cage, a confined vessel trapping his tension, turning his wrath against him, threatening to devour him.

He didn't acknowledge her when she let him in, refusing to meet her eyes; he kept walking towards the prison, evidently struggling for each step he took. She closed the gate hastily and chased after him. Horror had replaced her previous pain. Despair. The man in front of her was an open wound, all bleeding and suffering. But he was also as dangerous as an ensnared wild animal under her terrified gaze.

"Daryl…" she whispered softly, reaching for his arm.

He jerked away growling, not even turning to face her. Carol knew better that to try physical proximity again. She just kept following him, only a couple of steps behind him. When they walked inside the prison she stopped, watching him slowly climbing the stairs and heading to his cell. Everyone was gathering around her now, exchanging fearful looks, searching at her blue, wide eyes for insight. She shrugged; she had no idea what she was supposed to do. What anyone was supposed to do, fearing there was actually nothing that could be done.

Rick started heading for the stairs, but Hershel blocked his way with a stretched arm moments before Daryl reappeared on the top, armed to teeth with guns and knives. Everyone took a step behind as they slowly took in what Carol had realized from the first moment. He was dangerous now. It had been so long since the last time he had made a move against someone from the group they had almost forgotten how easily Daryl Dixon could be a fatal physical threat. Almost.

She tried her best to hold her ground as he walked past her, fighting with the logic that commanded her to stay as far away from him as possible and the need that urged her to drop in his arms. Everyone was frozen. The mask of lethal determination distorted his facial features. That man in front of them wasn't Daryl. He was a complete stranger with a murderous look in his eyes.

Nobody knew what to do. Rick walked quickly towards him, the menacing man over there, even if remotely recognizable at the moment, was his best friend. He didn't know what he was up to and he couldn't let him put his life in jeopardy. So, before Carol could overcome the numbing feeling that was spreading across the body and make a move to stop him, Rick was grabbing Daryl's shoulder.

He moved so fast nobody had a chance to even blink. Rick found himself nailed against the wall, his head colliding hard with the concrete, a sharp blade grazing his throat. A collective gasp split the dead silence of the prison like a lightning and everyone froze at the roaring figure that seemed to be the center of their small universe.

"DON'T YOU FUCKING TOUCH ME" Daryl barked pointedly, darkened eyes piercing the man he had always trusted blindly with his life without actually seeing him.

Rick blinked but remained completely still, well aware now of the danger he was in. Everyone held a breath at the scene in front of them. Carl's jaw dropped, Maggie shuffled closer to Glenn, Michonne's hand reached for the katana in her back. Carol took a guarded step towards the two men, ignoring her shaking hands and her quivering knees.

"Daryl…" She said softly, trying not to agitate him. "It's Rick. It's Rick," she pleaded, cussing the trembling sound of her voice.

After what seemed like forever he inhaled sharply, withdrew the knife from Rick's neck, spun around and walked away from them, not even casting anyone as much as a glance.

Rick released the breath he was withholding and Carl ran in his arms. They all watched Daryl marching to the tombs in silence, ironically relieved that he was not heading outside, to Woodbury.

Carol shuddered violently, the nauseating dizziness from before was claiming the last remnants of clarity in her mind. He was not a super hero; he was not indestructible or invincible; he was just a man. A strong one, yes; the strongest, most skilled and capable man to defend himself that she had ever known, but still. In the end of the day, he was just a man. He was the man she cared and loved so deeply and he was going all alone in those dreadful tunnels swamped with walkers. She knew perfectly well that trying to join him would be entirely pointless right now. He had shut down completely, he needed time alone and he needed to kill something to blow off some steam. His protective walls were back, fortifying him in his ivory tower, alienating him from everyone, even from her. If she invaded his personal space right now she would be flirting with the chance to get herself killed and give him more things to regret and deal with later.

Helplessness and desperation took over her, the cell block began to spin and she dropped on her knees, throwing up and shaking violently as spasms penetrated her slim frame. After a while, the contents of her stomach were spread on the floor. She tried to hold back her tears, embarrassed of her sudden breakdown in plain sight, but some muffled sobs escaped her before she swallowed then down. Maggie knelt down next to her, gently stroking her back and Rick offered a hand to help her stand on her feet. Slowly regaining her composure, Carol grasped Rick's hand and dragged herself off the floor. It took her everything she had to steady herself and meet all these pairs of eyes watching her warily, concern wrinkling their expressions.

They all knew what they had witnessed when Daryl stormed in and out of the cell block and what it meant to her. But she didn't want them to worry about her. She didn't want to put additional burden to their shoulders; everyone had enough trouble without her fretting. She refused to be a pathetic, meek, needy woman right now; she had to remain strong for everyone, especially for him. So she steeled herself, lifted he head and gave them all a sad smile, resting her hands on her hips.

"I'll clean this mess," she mumbled chokingly.

"I'll do it." Maggie jumped up and disappeared immediately. Carol didn't protest; all her strength was drained from her body.

She locked eyes with Hershel trying desperately to find some hope in the wisdom glowing inside them and caressed Rick's chest when he locked his arm around her neck and planted a tender kiss in her forehead. But she shook her head when Beth offered to pass Judith to her. She watched Glenn cupping his head with his hands, looking guilty and defeated. Michonne was chewing her bottom lip, qualms piercing her confidence. Carol sucked in a deep breath.

"It's nobody's fault," she stated flatly, mustering all her courage to shove away her own guilt. "When he comes back, I'll talk to him. It's gonna be just fine," she added nodding her head in an effort to sound convincing and reassuring more to herself than to rest of them, his own words when Sophia went missing throbbing in her ears.

As everyone tried to resume their normal activities, she slowly walked into her cell and sat in her cot, the gears in her head twirling frantically.

How would she throw down these new walls Daryl had built up to shield himself? Was there even a way to reach him? To let him know they were still here, still his family and they loved him? Did it even matter to him right now? Would he blame them for Merle's fate? What if this time he was too far gone, too far lost for her to find him and drag him back?

To avoid having a panic attack right there, she tugged her knees under her chin, hugging herself tightly and focused on stabilizing her breath and do the only thing she could do right now. Wait for him to come back. Hope that inside this unleashed beast, deeply immersed in a desolate abyss of grief, Daryl was crumpled up in a corner, waiting for a hand to drag him towards the light. Pray that her aching fingers had the power to provide him this solace.

_To be continued…_

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Thank you all for reading :) A review would be much appreciated!


	2. Bereavement

_**Hey, everyone!**_

_**Maybe I'll post these first chapters a little faster, to catch up soon with the rest of the story :)**_

_**Still pissed at me? Come on, forgive me :) I suffered a complete block with this story!**_

_**Enjoy!**_

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Everyone was restless that night. Not even one of them went to sleep. They were waiting for him to return from the tombs, not having a clue what to expect. So they just braced themselves for the worst. They were long used to disaster knocking their door. They were expecting it, along with the Governor's attack. But what they saw when they heard his boots thudding on the cement floor and turned towards the entrance of the cell block exceeded even their wildest nightmare. To say that he was soaked in walker's blood would be an understatement. Blood was literally dripping from his clothes as if he had taken a shower in it. Eight mouths dropped agape as he crossed the block, climbed the stairs and disappeared in his cell, his expression unfathomable.

The moment he was out of sight, seven pair of eyes were lingering on her. Carol was petrified. She was biting her lip, her gaze drifting to each one of them, desperately searching their faces for some advice. She found nothing. Swallowing hard, she stood up, lifted her chin and headed to the stairs.

"Are you sure about that?" She heard Hershel's concerned voice. Cocking her head towards him, she smirked sadly and nodded.

Rick was on her heels, but he stopped at the top of the staircase. "Be careful," he said sharing an encouraging half-smile with her. "I'll be right here".

"Promise me not to intervene unless I tell you," she requested.

"Carol-" He protested, shaking his head.

"Please, Rick! I have to be with him!" She insisted eagerly.

He gave her a hard look, lips twitching. "Ok". Reluctance was clear in his voice; she could only hope he'd comply to her will if things went south, even begrudgingly.

She stopped in the entrance of his cell, blocking his way out.

He growled, sensing her presence with his back on her. Suddenly, cornering him in a confined space like a cell seemed like the worst idea she had ever come up with. He would feel trapped, suffocated. But it was too late now; she was already here, there was no going back for her anymore. In any possible sense. The air in the cell was thick from walker stink, causing her to wince, but she didn't care.

Daryl was just standing there, puffing violently as if he was going to explode any moment now; facing the wall, his eyes digging holes on the bare concrete. His entire body in a position ready to attack an invisible enemy. Rage swirled like a red tide inside him, rushing in his veins, ready to choke or devour him.

This was it, then. She decided she would take it, no matter what. Inhaling deeply, she took a step forward, fully entering into his cell now, into whatever was lurking there, threatening to eliminate her.

She reached out her trembling arm to stroke him but thought better about it and let it fall laxly by her side. "Daryl-" she pleaded.

He didn't move.

"Daryl-" she repeated a little louder.

His head tilted imperceptibly. "Get out!" He snarled without turning around.

She gave herself a second to weigh her options. Although she was well aware that she shouldn't underestimate the wrath boiling inside him, she couldn't leave him again; he was so lost in his suffering abyss she just couldn't ignore it. She almost smiled bitterly at herself; each time logic and emotion were in conflict inside her, logic didn't stand a chance.

"No." She stated flatly.

"GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE!" He had whirled around and was suddenly screaming at her, completely out of control, spluttering all over and around her face. Taken aback by the menacing outburst, she retreated until she was out of his cell, leaning against the railing. She silently cussed herself; she should have stood her ground. At least she never broke eye contact with him. From the corner of her eye Carol spotted Rick taking a step closer from the top of the stairs with the gun in his hand. She motioned him to wait, being extra careful of not moving too fast, still holding Daryl's gaze.

But he was lost again, absorbed in a vacant space in front of him; looking at her but not seeing her.

She had no idea what to do next, the knot in her stomach was back, the sense of impotence devastated her. But again she knew there was no going back for her. She took a few light, cautious steps towards him, entering his cell for a second time. His eyes, narrowed and darkened, followed her the way a predator stalks his prey. She tried to approach him sideways, avoiding another direct confrontation.

"It's me." She said softly.

"What do you want?" He snapped at her with his glassy eyes.

Her presence was infuriating him, pushing him to the edge. Before she could say anything, he spun around away from her and crashed his fist against the wall grimacing from the pain at the sound of the cracking bone. It would have been either the wall or her skull. A shriek escaped Carol's lips as she lunged forward to grab his bleeding knuckles, only to feel the back of her head crushing against the wall. In a split second she was entirely pinned against it, his one hand locked around her neck and the other curled in a fist, mere inches away from her face; his body collided with hers.

Rick was at the door immediately, ready to storm inside, but froze dead in his tracks at her slightly lifted hand. Considering the situation she was in and the spectacle she must had provided, she was grateful to him for respecting her choices. She had made her mind before stepping in Daryl's cell that Rick shouldn't attack Daryl to protect her under any circumstances. Given Daryl's delirious haze, that would only end with one them dead; probably Rick, gun or no gun. She was determined to prevent that from happening even if it meant she'd have to throw herself in front of a bullet or a blade.

Carol had hard time breathing again, knowing how vulnerable she was under his grip; her heart was hammering, jostling violently against her chest, knowing he could just snap her like a twig in a flash. She kept her eyes locked with his, nevertheless, refusing to let panic take hold of her. Somewhere deep inside this enraged, wild lion in front of her, there was still Daryl. He had to be. And Daryl would never hurt her. He. Would. Never. Hurt. Her. Never.

"Please, Daryl. It's me. It's just me." She begged, dumbfounded by the sobs distorting her voice. How long had she been crying?

The hunter's grip was unyielding, though; teeth gritted, jaw fixed, a muffled growl escaping his throat. His ragged breaths were burning her face, numbing her senses, making it impossible to think clearly when she was longing for nothing else but to glue her lips on his. The reek of rotten flesh that was radiating from his toned body and the blood staining her skin were bringing up a new wave of nausea.

_It's Carol. It's just Carol,_ a frantic voice was echoing in his head. His mind was yelling at him to stop before hurting her, reminding him the person he was about to beat to death or strangle or both, was the one person he had sworn to protect and keep safe from any danger, wherever it came from; even from himself.

She locked her hands around his wrists while hot tears were streaming uncontrollably down her cheeks. His inner struggle plain as daylight in his contorted features and the incomprehensible expression spread across his gorgeous face. She couldn't stand the pain and the sorrow he was in, she couldn't care less about her life or he well being any more, not when he was hurting like that not even a breath away from her.

"Do whatever you have to do, Daryl," she whispered and sealed her eyes shut, ready for everything.

It was that last thing she said that ultimately did; the blank check she selflessly and stoically granted him that he could kill her right there, right at that moment and she would still forgive him. A switch flipped inside his head and he finally recognized her; the realization hit him like a punch in the jaw. He was hurting Carol. He kept her nailed on the wall, ready to smash her head with his fists. Carol's head. As if she was his fucking punching bag; he was ready to do to her what that asshole husband of hers used to. No. It was Carol.

He blinked and immediately dropped his bloody fist fall, taking a step back and stomping on his feet, struggling to maintain his balance. Her eyes fluttered open as she was suddenly freed from his steel clutch and she stopped crying, stopped even breathing; she froze, standing completely still in her place, staring at him, wary eyes darting all over his face. He was cringing and frowning now, disgusted by himself, deep wrinkles spreading on his brow. Rage was wearing off as her presence there started sinking in to him. It was Carol. But the ebbing rage cracked open a slit for shame tangled up with sorrow to creep in and take over him. He suddenly couldn't get enough air in lungs; the lump in his throat was suffocating him.

Carol unglued herself from the wall and reached out to him; her own breath strained. When he didn't flinch away she moved closer and cupped his face with her hands searching his eyes in terror, her heart clenched, aching for him. The wild animal was nowhere to be seen, a helpless boy broken to the core had taken his place.

"I put him down," he gasped, his eyes wild and desperate locked with hers. "I had to put him down". He reiterated wincing, as if he had only just deciphered the meaning of these words.

And with that, as even he had only just processed the grim events of the day, he burst into crying, defeated, agonizing sobs penetrating his broken body. She threw herself to him then, locking her arms around his waist, tugging him as close as she could, sensing every single muscle tensing and jolting bolting under her touch. A glimpse of Rick bowing his head and walking away to allow them some privacy was the last thing she registered before closing her eyes, unable to withhold her own tears. She had reached him, he was finally right there with her. He would share his grief for his brother's demise and let her carry some of his sorrow. Nothing else mattered right now.

"I'm here. I'm not leaving you. I'm here," she choked between her own whimpers.

He froze at the contact and remained stone still in his place as he channeled everything left inside him not to recoil; hot tears still stinging his eyes; his arms hanging loosely by his sides as he was taking in her body snuggled against him, her tight embrace and her quite sniffles scorching his chest. It took him a while before he wrapped his good hand around her back; took him a little bit longer to bring his mangled hand at her nape; took him even more to bury his face in the crook of her neck. When he did, though, he just let go; hugging her tight, he surrendered once again to his heartbreaking mourning. Merle was dead. But Carol was there. And she wasn't leaving him.

As time passed and he continued lamenting his bereavement, Daryl clung to her like she was the last barrier standing between him and madness, the last ray of hope in his downward spiraling.

After a while, his shuddering deteriorated significantly, taking control of his body before he had a chance to compose himself. He felt his knees buckling and, as her petite frame was too weak to support his slumping weight, they both collapsed on the ground, never letting go of each other.

_To be continued..._

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_**This is so heartbreaking, even re-writing it is painful :).**_

_**I'm crying my eyes out right now, for the second time!**_

_**But I really believe Daryl wouldn't know how to deal with his grief and Carol is the only person who could reach him. **_

_**Thank you for reading :) I would be more than grateful for a little feedback!**_

5


	3. Chapter 3

My computer with ALL my stories crashed, like it's completely dead…

So, keep your fingers crossed… I guess tomorrow I'll know if anything can be saved from the hard disk… Keep your fingers crossed! I was about to update, but what can I say…

This story seems so doomed, literally. I hope it's still there, otherwise I'll probably delete it altogether, no way I can re-write it from the beginning.

I apologize to you all, this is not what I had in mind from A Flickering Light In This Bleak World.


	4. Reaching Him

_**OMG, I'M SUCH AN IDIOT! NOW I KNOW WHY YOU COULDN'T REVIEW. I APOLOGIZE FOR THE MESS, BUT I FIXED IT.**_

_**PLEASE TRY AGAIN.  
**_

_**Hey, everyone!**_

_**Everything WAS salvaged from my computer! I can't believe how lucky I am :) **_

_**Thank you for all the emotional support and the encouraging words.**_

_**Let's get moving with this story :) So much to be said and done yet… We're only in the beginning!**_

_**Enjoy!**_

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None of them knew how long it was before his ferocious outburst simmered down, but when it did, Daryl found himself too spent to continue this debilitating mourning. Drained of tears and strength, he settled his back against the wall not knowing what to do. Despite his complete mental and physical exhaustion, his brain couldn't shut down, every single sinew of his body remained tensed, bolting under his skin, peace and sleep nothing more than an elusive dream.

Embarrassment aggravated his fidgetiness. Thinking of all that raw emotion and brutal belligerence he took out on Carol and the level of vulnerability he exposed to her, all Daryl wanted right now, while expecting her to return with some food, was to crumple up on the floor and command her to let him be. But he couldn't bring himself to do that. Not after everything he had put her through earlier only to have her cradle his shuddering body for hours, comforting and soothing the pain radiating off him. She made him almost believe he deserved her kindness.

Once his sobs ebbed away and he had calmed down somewhat at least part in control of his actions, Carol quickly launched herself from the floor and disappeared, mumbling something about cleaning his knuckles, holding back her own sniffles. His lament and complete meltdown had shattered her heart and left her unable to predict what his behavior would be next. Not that it had ever been easy, Daryl had always a wild card; his intractable predisposition and aloof demeanor made sure of that. She went down the staircase quickly; sending reassuring smiles and nods to the speculative set of eyes that lingered on her, she disappeared into her cell to take some bandages and disinfectant and allow herself no more than a moment of privacy to wipe her eyes and exhale the air she was withholding. When she emerged again, she took a deep breath and quickly updated them in a hushed tone, trying to suppress her nervous fidgeting.

"He's ok and he'll be better. Don't worry. Just need to clean the wound now… Could someone prepare something for him to eat"?

"I'll do it," Beth offered.

Carol smiled her gratitude. "I'll come get it in a bit".

"Is there anything we can do?" Glen asked, almost imploringly, eager to do something for Daryl, mimicking her whispering.

"Yes," she stated simply. "You should all get some rest. We don't know what the Governor's plans are and Daryl's gonna need us to be strong for him. It's definitely past midnight now and I bet you are all dead on your feet. Everything will be better in the morning".

Rick nodded approvingly to her, everyone's eyes on him now.

"Thank you for earlier," she told him honestly moving closer to him and resting her hand on his arm.

"Are you sure you're both ok?" he asked, not convinced.

"I'm fine, he didn't hurt me. And he's gonna be fine too, he just needs some time," she replied confidently. Rick nodded again, too exhausted himself to argue with her.

"Ok, everyone, maybe it's time to call it a day," he added and she was hurrying her way upstairs, not wasting another moment to see them retreating to their cells.

Carol took care of his wound, pretending she didn't notice his nervous twitching. "This is gonna sting a little," she muttered the moment she applied the disinfectant.

He grunted and gritted his teeth not to flinch at the pain, avoiding her eyes the whole time. He had heard the stifled murmurs when she went downstairs and it wasn't difficult to guess what they were talking about. Knowing he had grabbed everyone's attention made him even more defensive. He wanted to be rude and cranky and make her go away, but something inside him, something he couldn't quite identify, was fighting against it. So he focused on her gentle fingers working on his bloody hand, taking every chance to give him a brief, soft stroke. When his knuckles were all cleaned up and bandaged, she carefully rested his hand in her lap.

"You should be careful with that," she whispered. "I will change the bandages again tomorrow". Not trusting himself to say anything at this point, he remained silent and took his hand away, never looking at her.

She sighed and stood up. "I'll bring you something to eat," he heard her muttering as she walked away.

"I'm not hungry," he scolded her, his voice hoarser and more dismissive than he meant it to be.

She spun around to face him. "I don't remember asking you," she smirked with a teasing hint in her voice, determined not to allow his tempter get to her. Before he could say anything she had disappeared in the hallway again.

Daryl was too distracted focusing on the raw pain in his hand, trying to tuck away the overwhelming anguish of Merle's death when she came back with a tray in her hands, catching him wincing before he could mask it.

"Are you in pain?" she asked watching him cautiously.

"Wall has it worse," he grunted.

"Of course it does," she played along placing the tray next to him and crouching at his other side. "Eat," she ordered firmly.

He snorted his discontent.

"Eat or I'll try to hug you again," she taunted him, a playful tone evident in her threat for the impending physical contact.

Daryl cast a sidelong glance at her, his stomach knotting up even worse at the encouraging smile spread across her face, and couldn't help a half hearted one that escaped his own lips. There was no point fighting this woman. She just wouldn't give up on him.

And then he did the inconceivable, chewing the inside of his cheek at the thought that if Merle was around, he would give him hell for that; he conformed. Shaking his head and huffing in resignation, he took the plate and forced a couple of bites down his throat, trying to ignore the nausea. Deep down he admitted she was right anyway; he had to eat something at some point.

"All this hunting and supply running and such a poor appetite," she commented waving him to keep eating when he stopped.

He sighed and shoveled some more bites in his mouth.

When swallowing anything more without puking became impossible, he passed her the plate with what was left of the food – and there was enough. "Finish it off," he grumbled. "Bet you are too busy being a smartass to remember feeding yourself" he added, failing to glare down on her.

"That sounds like me," she snickered, knowing her plan had backfired and now she was inescapably trapped in it. He was clever her hunter, even in his darkest hour, and always made sure she had her stomach full in his own way.

The atmosphere around them was getting lighter as they relaxed in their comfortable, familiar silence, savoring each other's presence.

But she relaxed a little bit too much.

"Don't do anything careless or stupid when you see the Governor," she pleaded hesitantly casting peeks his way while chewing the contents of the plate. "You watch yourself and stay safe, ok? We need you," the grip of fear around heart clenched and then her voice came out huskier than she meant it to. "I need you". There, who needed lightness to distract him from his loss, when she could send him running for the hills with just three words? She mentally scolded herself.

His head snapped at face her; he met her eyes, shock and bewilderment spread across his features. He looked mortified. She cursed herself once more; well done, Carol, like he didn't already have enough in his mind. The last thing needed now was to make him feel defensive. Building up new walls to alienate himself and needing a month to get over it and talk to her again was the worst and most plausible scenario at the same time and she was well aware of it. After everything they had been though the last few hours, what she blurted out mindlessly was the biggest screw up in history.

But Daryl was still there. He just blinked, dipped his head again to hide himself and gritted his teeth. The effort to control his instinctive reaction to her words, to tame his natural need to jerk away and bolt was evident in his narrow darkened eyes, his tensed stance. But he stayed there, motionless, breathing heavily. It was Carol, he told himself. Just Carol.

Carol watched him frozen in her place, not moving, not even breathing for what seemed like an eternity before he swallowed hard, whirled his head to meet her again and did his best to force an awkward crooked smile, somehow contriving to ignore his blushed cheeks and his utter humiliation. She finally sucked some oxygen in her lungs and gave him a soft smile in return. He had surprised her; she knew exactly what it took for him to stay there and confront her after her blunt and vehement declaration.

"Yeah… That works both ways," he mumbled, clearing his throat and watched her jaw slack. "Besides, stupid is what you do for a living, not I," he sneered hastily, not giving her time to recover and pick on it.

"Really? How is so?" she asked incredulously, raising an eyebrow in fake offense and finally placing her plate on the floor.

"First time this place was attacked, you got yourself lost in the tunnels. That one easily topped every stupid thing you've done – and you've done a lot," he told her pointedly with the same crooked smile.

"Well, excuse me…" she protested, but he interrupted her immediately.

"Not that it's easy to say the winner between that and your coming up here tonight. Sure you have a death wish or something… You could have got your head ripped off and served in a dish." His smile disappeared as he remembered how close he had come to… no, he couldn't even think about it. "You almost did," he growled accusingly, but he mainly seemed devastated.

She shook her head and took a moment to respond; she knew it had been a close call but he had proven himself. "No, I didn't. You would never hurt me. Never. Better get used to the idea and stop beating yourself," she finally stated confidently, not as much as a grain of doubt tainting her absolute faith in him.

He gave her a long look. Her words were comforting, her trust in him always the shelter he needed to get away from himself, selflessly offering protection, redemption, reasons to keep going, even hope.

"You are better than that," her voice nothing more than a whisper, before she went on. "He was, too". Maybe she was pushing her luck, maybe all this was too much for Daryl to chew in one day, but somehow, for reasons she couldn't quite comprehend or decipher, it felt right for him to know.

Daryl narrowed his eyes, confusion evident in his expression. She couldn't be possibly talking about… could she? "Who?"

"Merle," she went on the moment their gazes crossed. "I threatened him. When you came back with him, I told him that if he messed with you, I'd cut his throat in his sleep. Not only didn't he mess with you, but he didn't even return the threat to me. I underestimated him, I'm sorry". She fell silent then and waited, nervously twisting his fingers, afraid to meet his eyes. She knew she deserved anything he'd throw at her for sticking her nose in his private business.

At first, he thought he misheard. Carol had threatened Merle? And then, for the first time after her last visit to his cell, weeks before, he chuckled, causing Carol to shift uncomfortably in her place. Fuck, if this wasn't happening in the middle of his tragedy it would have been fucking hilarious.

"You threatened Merle? Fuck! And I thought the end of the world happened a year ago…" he teased, extracting a smile from her otherwise guarded expression, before regaining his serious face.

"He wouldn't hurt you. I could swear the bastard never lifted a hand to a woman in his miserable life. Little piece of shit…" he drifted off for only a split second before regaining control. "But you definitely have a thing for slashing throats when people sleep. We should have you checked or something," amusement creeping in his voice again.

"You are the one who taught me how to use a knife, Dixon! What can I say? You created a monster, you unleashed the beast!" she added playfully, beaming at him. She was so proud of him. Of his reaction. Of him figuring out immediately that her threatening his brother wasn't any kind of indiscreetness or nosiness. It was her way of looking out for him, of protecting him, of taking care of him, hell, of even loving him. And somehow, against all hope, he surprised her again by seeing right through her.

They fell in a comfortable silence. Daryl was relieved someone was there to share his grief, to distract him, to help him forget this gut wrenching pain lurking inside him. He was glad that this someone was her; no one else had this kind of power over him. And if he wanted to be honest with himself, he had to admit he didn't want to share this sorrow with anyone but her.

Carol felt serene, almost happy despite the fact that his misery was scorching her through and through. She was content that he was still there, close, literally and figuratively; that he hadn't drawn himself away from her and the group; that he was sitting there, next to her, bravely exposing the bleeding wounds of his soul, trusting her to treat him and console him, instead of retreating in his dark place to lick his wounds all alone.

She took his hand in hers slowly, shyly; instantly aware of the way he tensed but fought against flinching. She entwined their fingers, he let her. She brought the back of his palm to her lips, kissing it tenderly, he scowled. She held his gaze, watching his expression going from startled, to disturbed, to completely dumbfounded. Her heart was hammering against chest, the frantic throbbing in her ears making her dizzy and from the look in his face she could say he was experiencing the same unsettling and yet exhilarating feeling.

Once again, he had to painfully grit his teeth and mentally restrain himself to stay pinned next to her. He hated to admit that allowing her such intimacy, letting her kiss his hand, was easier than it should have been, more natural than he could ever be ready to accept, because the very sight of her lips touching a part of him, even the most innocent one, was sending waves of sensual numbness all over his body. And her lips lingered on his skin only a second too long. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall. Maybe he was dying too after all, he thought, because he could swear his heart was skipping beats.

She sighed deeply. As much as she enjoyed this sweet exchange between them, he should hear some things he wouldn't find easy to accept. Otherwise the pain for his brother's loss would always be mixed with rage and the true healing would never begin. And the time had come for her to tell him…

_To be continued…_

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_**Did a ray of hope just creep in here?**_

_**Thank you all for reading :) You know how much I'd appreciated a review.**_

6


	5. Redemption

She took a deep breath and hoped she wasn't about to destroy everything.

"You were wrong," she finally said matter-of-factly but he remained still, breathing heavily, overwhelmed by all those incongruous, contradicting emotions the day had served him. He was exhausted, yet restless. He was listening to her, her voice or her silence it didn't matter, he was listening tentatively, still holding on to her presence like she was the only thing that kept him grounded. And she was.

Carol paused for another moment to collect her thoughts. "About Merle. You were wrong when you said that no Cherokee rose would bloom for him," she finally continued in the same tone.

His eyes fluttered opened and he cocked his head to face her; the knot in his stomach was back. Their eyes were locked digging holes in each other's gaze as painful old memories of Sophia and new ones of Merle flooded every inch of space surrounding them.

She ignored the lump in her throat, blinking to shove the sting of her eyes away. This was about Daryl and Merle, not her and Sophia, she reminded to herself. "The way he died…" she floundered, uncertain of how to articulate her thoughts. "Only a man of honor would do something like that," her voice drifted.

His eyes darkened. "What honor are you rumbling about? Son of a bitch was a stupid, simple-minded piece of shit. Got his ass killed over nothing, shouldn't even be there," he spat, suddenly glaring down on her.

She didn't faze. "He died for you, and in some way, he also died for all of us." Carol shrugged. "He was able to love someone more than he loved himself. You. And he was noble and unselfish enough to sacrifice himself for you," she went on guardedly.

"Merle was an asshole. Never cared for anyone but hims…" His voice came out hard as a stone.

"Merle loved you and you know it so quit the crap," she interrupted him intensely, shooting back a stern look. He had to listen, damn it.

Dumbfounded by her unusually firm reaction, he heard her slack-jawed, fighting back his impulse to lash out at her.

"Merle was a lot of things but he did love you," she offered softly, gently squeezing the hand she was still holding in hers. "He didn't have to go there, I know. Maybe his sacrifice was in vain; maybe he'd be more useful here with us, but still…" She shrugged. "This is just us, projecting our thoughts and wishes on him".

Seeing she had caught his attention again, she paused to bring his hand to her lips before going on. "He did what his code dictated him to do and he did it for you. Just like you did when you chose to leave us, instead of abandoning your brother. He did it to give you a fighting chance to have the life you want. Just the way you risked your life to give me my Sophia back. A whole bush of Cherokee roses wouldn't suffice for the kind of generosity Merle showed in his final moment. He was a late bloomer, your brother. But a bloomer, nonetheless".

"He'd give you a shit storm of temper if you called him a bloomer," Daryl huffed. Mentioning Merle's and Sophia's names in the same sentence echoed like a bad joke in his ears but her words wormed their way to his heart.

"No, he wouldn't," she half-smiled knowingly, receiving a speculative look from him. "He told me how much I had changed since he first met me at the quarry," she elaborated. "That back then I was afraid of my own shadow and now I'm not afraid of anything".

"You were afraid of your asshole husband, not your shadow," he corrected, frowning at Ed's thought and his own lack of action against that abusive bastard back then.

His comment touched her; they were the same, he and she. "That's exactly what I told Merle; well, except from the asshole thing," she smirked. "And he told me that I was a late bloomer. And I told him maybe he was a late bloomer too. Apparently, he was," she stated simply, gritting her teeth to maintain her composure, voice already twisting.

Daryl felt deeply moved of her version of Merle's portrayal. Merle had been called a lot of things in his miserable life and he deserved almost all of it, but a bloomer was not one them. He felt a wave of gratitude swelling inside him for Carol, for having said a kind word to his brother the day he died, absolutely convinced that Merle had never been the recipient of any generosity and benevolence even remotely close to hers.

"You are always too kind with people," he mumbled, trying to conceal his overwhelming emotion.

"No, I'm not," she protested.

"Sure you are," he sulked at her. "Almost naïve. I'm the living proof of that."

Carol snorted her disagreement. "You're the living proof of a lot of things. My naiveté is not one of them," she smirked and he felt his gut quivering.

The lump in his throat made it hard to breathe and his chest clenched again. What was she doing to him? Empathy, yes. Compassion, even better. He would accept it from her; hell, he probably even needed it from her. But this? She was offering his brother what? Forgiveness? Redemption? And she seemed honest and sincere; and confident.

"He didn't have to love a lot people or care about the general welfare. Life was cruel to him; he didn't owe anything to anyone. Maybe not even you. But he loved you and it was enough to make him a better man. Because this is just who you are. So honorable and proud, well, maybe a little rough around the edges, but still…" she shrugged, smiling, and inhaled deeply.

She tried to sound serene, composed. She spoke effortlessly from the bottom of her heart, believing every single word she said, not faking her compassion, just offering it, plainly and lavishly, without holding back anything.

He felt the softness of her lips on his knuckles again, this time mixed with dampness. Daryl saw tears staining her beautiful face and it was only then that he realized his cheeks were wet too. He reached out his bandaged hand and wiped out a fresh one streaming down her jaw line with his thumb. "Don't cry," he rasped. "Not for Merle and me". This woman should never cry. Especially for a Dixon. His callous hand was rough against the dainty skin of her face; not practiced in displaying physical affection, the gesture itself was much coarser than intended. But coming from him, it meant the world to her. She gave him a teary smile.

"You showed him what family really means, how a true brother would behave. And he lived up to that," she kept talking, fighting back tears. The way she saw it Daryl had understood that family is not just blood; it's also people we meet along the way and mean something to us. And when he came back with his brother on his heels, he had tried to reconcile blood and choice. Merle knew that, whether he liked it or not, and when he decided to risk his life for his brother; he also knew there was another family to take care of him. "Merle lived up to you, Daryl. And, trust me; that was not an easy task for him, or for anybody. I'm sure he was proud of you and you should be proud of him, too. You have nothing to apologize for on his behalf, nothing to be ashamed of. His mistakes are on him, but so is his sacrifice. Be proud of your brother, he chose his way out of this world and his choice was one only a decent man would make. His final move was to do whatever he thought best for you and this group. The rest of us? We should all carry a little guilt inside us for not seeing the man behind the mask earlier, for not trying harder to understand him and embrace him. But not you; you should be proud of both of you. And I know; somewhere a whole meadow of Cherokee roses in blossoming right now for your tears. This is how much you worth,"

While speaking she watched him carefully closing his eyes again, leaning back to his previous position. His features were gradually relaxing and although she could do nothing for his grief, she was pretty sure that she had found a way to ease his pain, to show him he was safe to let her carry some of his burden. So she kept talking to him; she would go on talking to him until her lips cracked open if that was what it'd take to see the tension ebbing off his face next to her. Her hand began to ache under his firm grip that was getting painful now, but she didn't make a sound.

He couldn't find a reason not to believe her; or maybe it was just that he desperately needed to. Sure, saying Merle was a jerk or an asshole was only an understatement to begin with. But so was Daryl when he first met her and, despite everything, despite his temper and his gruesome manners, despite all the insults and the hurtful words he had shamelessly spat at her face, she had managed to see beyond that. She had been so adamant against all evidence for the opposite, like a child stubbornly insisting to have it his way, about him being a man of honor that she practically forced him to believe that too. Did she make him a decent man or did she just smash the shell this man was hiding in? Did she carve him from the beginning or simply guided him to peer through the veil? He neither knew, nor cared which one was it. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for Merle as well, and maybe she was the only insightful enough to see that. Shit, if anybody was, that would be Carol. When it came down to the Dixon judgment of character, her word was a fucking gospel. He absentmindedly squeezed her hand, seeking courage. Yes, she could be right. They had lost once and for all their chance to watch Merle react to kindness, adapting, reciprocating. Maybe.

He was clinging to each word she said the way he had clung to her body earlier that night; like a lifeline, taking in her consolation the same way the dry earth greedily absorbs the water, slowly accepting everything her soft voice was simply, but sweetly, stating next to him, feeling his silent tears flow down to his neck and chest where their holding hands rested. He had no idea when he had brought them there, but the moment he finally became aware of it, he also realized that the strength of his muscled arm and the clutch of his hand were crashing her delicate fingers. Relaxing his hold immediately, he couldn't help but notice the grimace of pain she tried to mask.

They stared at each other, a silent exchange between them said everything that couldn't be said out loud, unspoken messages conveyed back and forth, and then he knew. His healing would begin and she would be the one to show him the way. That's what they had been doing ever since Sophia was lost; tend to each other wounds, hold each other, carry each other, heal each other.

Merle was gone. Merle was gone. Merle. Dead. His brother was dead. And despite the sorrow and the gut-wrenching pain, Daryl would eventually be fine. He needed a family, he had one; he also needed a little help from Carol to remind him how many reasons he had to go on. And she was already right there for him.

As he released his hand, he couldn't help but smile at the instant frown of her face before she realized that he only broke their holding so that he could draw her in an embrace. "Come here," he whispered. His voice was husky and exhausted, yet unexpectedly peaceful.

She tried her best to conceal her incredulity at this startling offer and willingly shuffled closer to snuggle in his arms, timidly resting her head on his collarbone, not sure of how much would be too much for him. She felt his lips on the top of her head and then she was comfortably tucked under his chin.

He pulled her even closer and she melted in his arms suddenly feeling ridiculously guilty for the happiness that instantly start pumping through her veins. Yet, he didn't stop. He kept tugging her closer and closer, literally squeezing her as if he couldn't achieve his desirable level of intimacy and proximity. When she was glued on him, he realized he might have been hurting her again so he tried once again his best to relax his grip, at least enough to let her breathe without aching. Shit, what a great job he had done tonight; first tried to break he neck, then her fingers, then her ribs; hey, there, way to go!

"Is Rick ok?" he asked cautiously after a while.

"He's fine, you didn't really hurt him," she replied reassuringly.

He felt the bewildering need to ask her if he had hurt her and not just in a physical way but the words got stuck behind his pursued lips.

He had to admit he had no control over the influence this precious little creature had on him, wishing that here and now could last more. Nobody knew what tomorrow had in store for them, if they would be alive or dead. The bastard that killed his brother was after them too, after her. Lethal vengeance shone in his eyes, but he swallowed it not wanting to scare her again.

"Well, when that prick attacks, you stay close, you hear? No time to play hide n seek now. I'm done looking for your sorry ass. I wanna keep an eye on you," he tried to sound as casually joking.

She nodded; a smile ghosting in her lips.

Somehow, despite all odds, she had reached him. And he would let her hold his hand and share his sorrowful journey with him. While looking out for her as well, of course.

They stayed like this until the first rays of the morning sun slowly crept in.

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**_God, I love writing these two characters. So much depth, so many subtleties I'm trying to grasp here!_**

**_I can't tell you how much I appreciate the encouragement. Thank you all, again._**

5


	6. Burden

_**Hey, everyone!**_

_**This is a Rick/Carol chapter. I find their relationship very interesting and sweet, they are like brother and sister.**_

_**Hope I did them justice!**_

_**Thank you for all the kind words, your support means the world to me :)**_

* * *

The sun was slowly rising far in the horizon, its rejuvenating rays tenderly caressing the land, oblivious to the walking hell on it. Carol had just cleaned up herself after convincing Daryl to get some hours of much needed sleep. He initially snorted at her suggestion but was too spent to put any real resistance; once he collapsed on the mattress of his bunk it took him less than a few seconds to doze off.

She had checked on everyone else to find them all still sleeping peacefully and was now walking purposely towards the guard tower where she knew Rick would be, always restless, always keeping watch. The struggle and the intensity of the night before had emptied her; exhaustion was engraved in the black circles under her eyes, weariness had overtaken her body and her eyelids flared heavily. Making slow, graceful strides she half closed her eyes letting the chill of the dawn and the refreshing breeze linger across her face, breathing in the smoothing sensation.

So many things this new day could bring them… Would they stay alive long enough to welcome another one?

Rick spotted her immediately, nodding a greeting in her direction and she gave him a sweet smile before stepping in the threshold of the guard tower. She met him on the top, regarding her warily, his lips a firm line. He was beyond tired, dead on his feet, seemingly ready to collapse at any moment. How long had it been since he last had a good night's sleep? She had no idea. His eyes were swollen and bloodshot, his pale skin almost yellow and the deep wrinkles across his forehead had become permanent.

"He is devastated," she answered his unspoken question. "But we'll get through this too together. All of us."

Rick rubbed his blurry eyes leaning against the railing, a slight tremble in his hands. He wasn't convinced. He doubted they would get through Merle's death and the Governor's assault and remain united… and alive. She could tell he was losing hope. Guilt, grief and exhaustion were taking their toll on him. Sorrow was claiming his sanity and he was doing his best to fight against it, knowing they couldn't afford to fall apart right now. But it was a battle he was losing, nevertheless; and he knew it.

"He doesn't blame you, Rick. He was actually worried he'd hurt you," she offered. "This was not your fault. Stop beating yourself".

"How was this not my fault? How is all this mess not my fault?" he sounded desperate, lost.

Carol sighed. "How is the fact that we stomped into this psychotic, self-proclaimed Governor your fault, Rick?"

The strongest men in their group were both losing it at once. Their group wouldn't stand a fighting chance against the Governor if they didn't put their pieces together.

He shook his head "I've tried so hard to keep everyone alive, but I've made all the wrong calls. I just keep losing people" his voice cracked.

Carol eyed him cautiously. He looked drained of every grain of strength, almost like Daryl did a few hours ago.

"Giving up Michonne… What kind of back stabbing bastard would do that? How are you all sleeping under the same roof with me? I'm no better from the Governor." He was shaking evidently now, threading his fingers through his hair.

She rubbed his back softly. resting her forehead on his shoulder. God, she was too tired for this. "You are nothing like him," she stated simply, unfaltering confidence lingering in her voice.

He whirled his head to meet her and she lifted hers to lock eyes with him.

"It was a moment of weakness," she clarified. "We all have these. You are allowed in one every once in a while. No one thinks you are a traitor or something. Not even Michonne. She came back here, didn't she? Talk with her later and you'll work things out." She smiled him her encouragement, her firm belief that Rick was an honorable man, the only one among capable of carrying the group's safety on his shoulders.

"He'd still be alive, Carol. Daryl would still have his brother," Rick went on, his overwhelming guilt radiating from every pore of his hunched body.

She took a deep breath. "Merle made his own decisions and you know it. Daryl knows it too. His death isn't on you. He took a risk and he did it for his brother," she countered. "It's only too late that we have all come to realize that, but Merle really loved Daryl."

Rick was still inconsolable. "I proclaimed myself your leader, made all the decisions of life and death for you. Kept things from you." His self-battering was relentless and, even though he was guilty of some of the listed accusation, blaming himself for every tragedy that had devastated them was completely unfair to him.

"No," she interrupted him, "we proclaimed you our leader. And you should have never been held completely responsible for everything that went wrong." Her mind drifted to Sophia. "It was never your job to keep us alive; to stop us from getting killed… or lost," her voice was failing her now, but she didn't want to cry any more.

"And from all people, this is coming from… you?" he gawked at her incredulously.

Their relationship had come a long way since Sophia got lost. Carol had blamed him for leaving her alone in the woods, but she had been wrong and unjust to him and it hadn't taken long for her to understand and acknowledge it. Rick always did his very best, what he considered right, not what seemed easy. When Sophia walked out of the barn, she knew something broke inside him, as if some kind of switch flipped. It was nothing like her complete devastation, but it was still a pivotal moment for him. Reconciliation had come naturally between them the months they spent in the open fighting for their day to day survival, but they had never talked about Sophia again.

"What happened to Sophia wasn't you fault," she whispered, displaying her thoughts explicitly for the first time.

She heard him gasp; trying to take a deep breath, but it was caught in his throat. "I should have done more for her," he croaked.

"No, you shouldn't. You could have, maybe. But you had so many things in your mind with Carl being shot… The first person that should and could have done more for my little girl is me. Keeping here close was my job. Keeping her alive was my job. Even looking for her was my job and I left Daryl do all the searching alone. Sophia's safety had never been your job. None of our dead ones are on you. You have nothing to make up for." She swallowed hard the lump rising in her throat, thick tears glistened in her eyelashes, threatening to roll but she quickly wiped them away.

He could feel a tiny bit of his burden ebbing off his shoulders. Carol always had this calming effect on people.

"You are not responsible for us. This is not something a man could carry alone. You do your best to protect us, no one here could have done a better job," she went on, slightly more composed. "We always look up to you to tell us what to do or when we need someone to take the blame. But what about you, Rick? How long it's been since any of us last asked you how are you?" She changed the subject. Sophia was a bad topic right now; she didn't think she could handle talking about her much longer.

He stared at her, saying nothing.

"You look like hell. You need to rest" she added, smirking sadly.

"I have nightmares. Lori…" He confessed but didn't dare to admit he was also having visions of his dead wife while awake.

"Lori's death isn't on you either. You did everything in your power to protect her."

"And failed. Again," he sighed.

"We all failed her that day. Sometimes I wonder what if I was closer to her when the walkers attacked… Would I be able to take the baby without killing her? So many qualms, so many regrets… But we all carry them, Rick, not just you. You still have so much to live for. Carl, Judith; all of us for what it's worth," she shrugged, smiling again.

Tears welled up in his eyes. "Sometimes I look at Judith and all I can think about is…" He paused, shoving Shane's memory away. "And it's not fair, you know? She's just a baby."

"I know. I understand," she nodded.

They saw Glenn jogging towards them and fell silent waiting for him.

"Sorry I overslept," he apologized, still rubbing the sleep off his eyes. He turned to Carol. "How is he?"

After reassuringly updating Glenn for Daryl's condition, Carol turned to Rick who was now resting his head against the wall, breathing heavily.

Carol nudged him lightly. "Shall we get going?"

"Yeah, man, go get some sleep. We have to vote later and talk about the wedding. And you look like hell," Glenn backed her suggestion.

Rick snorted, stifling a chuckle. "That's the second time I've been told so today and the sun is barely up yet."

"Told you," Carol teased him, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, well, you don't look much better yourself," Glenn scolded her amusingly.

She puckered her lips and nodded in reluctant agreement. "You kids have no respect for the elders," she said heading to the stairs.

"Wanna join me to check on my daughter first?" Rick asked.

"Of course." She beamed at his words. _His daughter._ Rick would be just fine. They all would. "See you later, Glenn."

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_**Poor Rick is really going through hell, but Carol is so caring and always knows the right thing to say. **_

_**Thank you all for reading :)**_

4


	7. Starting Again

_Hi, everyone!_

_Not much to say here, only that I hope you like this chapter as much as I do :)_

_Enjoy!_

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His restless sleep was interrupted by Judith's distant wailings. Fluttering his eyes open, he felt them heavy and swollen; his head was spinning, as if he was waking up from a coma after being crushed by a truck. His whole body was stiff and hurt and beyond dirty and for a few moments he had trouble adjusting to reality. Judging from the light entering his cell, he could tell he had overslept, which was unusual for him, but his mind was failing him. Dried blood covered every inch of his clothes and exposed skin and he was oozing a stench so terrible it made him wince.

And then it him. Merle… And everything after that. Dragging himself into a sitting position with what seemed like a tremendous amount of effort, he buried his head in his hand and inhaled deeply, trying to clear his thoughts. There was no time for this, he knew. The Governor was still after them and he had to be on his feet ready to protect the group. But he'd much rather spend the entire day hiding from them. He was embarrassed he had shown them his vulnerability in the worst possible way. He just didn't want to meet anyone; especially Rick and Carol.

So he got angry. Anger was an easy feeling for him, serving exceptionally as both his first and last line of defense. When he was angry everyone respected his space and left him alone; or was just afraid of his temper, but let him alone anyway. Anger also kept him moving, never letting sorrow take a hold of him and destroy him. When he lost Merle in Atlanta, he got angry; when Sophia stumbled out of the barn, he got angry; when they thought Carol was gone, he got angry. Anger was an easily handled feeling for him never failing to keep all of them alive in times of crisis.

Angry it was, then. He would be angry, pissed at everyone for Merle's death; he'd glare and growl and bark at them until it was clear to every single member of the group that their compassion was neither wanted nor needed and they'd better keep their distance and their concerned glances to themselves. These people were all for feeling and sharing and caring and pretty much everything that could get you killed. This attitude wouldn't work with Carol, of course, he knew that, but it wasn't like there was anything in this fucking world he could do to keep her away; angry or no angry, she was always hovering around him. Plus, he wasn't planning to ever speak to her again; not after trying to kill her and then sobbing in her arms and then holding her in his… Shit. Hell yeah, he could do angry again. Angry was the solution to his problems. Merle would be proud. Fuck 'em all; otherwise he'd be too drawn into his mourning to protect them and kill the fucking Governor. Fuck 'em all again. Fuck Merle.

Judith's shrieks were fading now, Carol or Beth were probably already cradling her. Fuck. He didn't want to see her. She was immune to his fits and that only drove him even more crazy, blocking all the possible escape routes for his pent up rage.

He stepped out of his cell, walked down the stairs heading to the showers, eager to scrub away the dirt and the numbness that slowed his movements. Fucking stinking walkers. The hallway was empty, good. With the corner of his eye he caught her small figure curled into her cell, sleeping soundly. What the hell? Carol was never sleeping late, let alone she would have jumped on to her feet immediately with all that noise around, the slight sleeper she was. He hesitated for a second and then decided he was too angry and he didn't care so he kept marching purposely to his destination.

Beth was in the makeshift kitchen, rocking Judith in one arm and stoically preparing the formula with her free hand. She saw him but he quickly walked past her not giving her a chance to talk. Freaking people would feel like chit chat. Shit.

The water in the shower was cold. Fucking freezing. Good.

He put on some clean clothes, grabbed his knives and stepped into the relentless daylight. It was sunny and warm. A fuckin' perfect day. He could only hope that his sharpening his knives would be a sight scaring enough to keep everyone in distance. Not that any of them seemed to be afraid of him these days. Fuck. This had to change. Squinting at the sun and ignoring his hurt knuckles, he scanned his surroundings.

His eyes darted around the prison yard. At least Rick, Maggie and Hershel were nowhere to be seen right now. Three less to worry about for any immediate contact. It wasn't much, but it was something. Glenn was checking the cars. Michonne was on watch. That katana swinging lady would have a lot of explaining to do; not that he could really blame her for Merle trying to get her killed and then changing his mind, but he needed to know the whole story. Later.

Glenn was already walking in his direction. Fuck. It had taken him, what? Thirty seconds? Glen watched him cautiously. He knew better than to underestimate a Dixon handing a knife, even if that Dixon was Daryl.

"I'm sorry for your loss", he offered, keeping his distance.

Being angry with Glenn should have been a fucking piece of cake. Daryl had practically begged the guy to give Merle a second chance only a few hours before he died and the freaking kid had refused to make even a tiny step for reconciliation between him and Merle.

"What? Wanna talk 'bout my feelings now?" he grumbled, startled that his words sounded more tired than actually venomous; his voice was hoarse, but not really threatening.

Fuck. Where was his anger?

Problem was he found it hard to be pissed at Glenn. From his perspective, unwillingness to forgive Merle was only natural. Fuck. Since when did a Dixon rationalize the situation around him? He should be fucking furious kicking asses by now and that would be the end of the story. Punch first, ask questions later; good, old, fuckin' drill.

Glenn wasn't intimidated by Daryl's scowl, he expected worse. He fidgeted but kept his ground nonetheless. "This is not about Merle and Maggie and me. It's about you and me. We're friends and I'm sorry you lost your brother," he muttered; concern, guilt, apprehension mingled together, twisting his voice.

"We weren't friends yesterday," Daryl growled, recalling his adamant demeanor the day before, never meeting his gaze as he channeled his full attention at the task in hand.

Glenn shifted on his feet awkwardly. "Merle and me, it wasn't going to happen, Daryl." He shook his head. "But you are my friend and I really am sorry you have to go through this; that this happened to you," he went on intensely. "I really am sorry you lost your brother. I wish I had handled things differently between us. But no matter what, you are my friend and I hope I'm yours too."

Shit. He liked Glenn; he knew he wasn't bitching about what Merle had done to him. He was just standing up for his woman's honor. Daryl respected that despite himself. "I bet you consider what happened to Merle was nothing but comeuppance", he accused with everything he had in his final attempt to hostility.

"It wasn't for you and that's what I care about", Glenn stated solemnly.

Daryl couldn't help but appreciate his honesty and straightforward confrontation. Glenn didn't pretend he had changed his mind about Merle overnight; he was just clearing the air between them. Kid had balls. "We're fine you, and I" Daryl sighed, not even trying to sound angry anymore. He just felt defeated. Shit. What had these people done to him? Fuck.

Glenn shuffled closer. "You mean that?"

"Ain't saying it twice," Daryl grunted.

"Maggie and I are getting married", Glenn broke the news abruptly.

Daryl snapped his head, locking eyes with him for the first time, processing the data. "Of course you are. In the middle of the fucking apocalypse, in the middle of this fucking war, that sounds like you two." Well, at least he could still be grumpy and sarcastic. Not much for a Dixon, but it was the best he could do looking at Glenn's kind expression.

Glenn smiled wholeheartedly recognizing that the grief stricken man in front of him was still his grouchy, ill-tempered friend. He took a few steps forward closing the distance between them and dropped a hand on his shoulder. "Maggie and Hershel are in the back. They'll catch up with you later", he said before walking away.

Shit. Nothing to catch up with. What was wrong with these people? Shit. Fuck 'em all. Or not. Whatever.

After a while of sharpening his knives uninterrupted, he started getting restless. He wanted to check on lil' Ass Kicker. And Carol was still nowhere in sight. Oversleeping and Carol weren't two things you could find in the same sentence. Maybe he had hurt her after all. Or maybe she was sick. Cussing under his breath, he headed for his way back to the prison only to stomp into a barely awake Rick walking in the opposite direction.

They were both frozen in their place at each other's sight, locking eyes, silently saying everything that needed to be said. Their deep friendship was never built on long conversations and touching confessions, or many words whatsoever. But could it survive a blow like that? Rick had a great part of responsibility in Merle's death. And Daryl had attempted to kill him the night before.

* * *

_This chapter and the next one are focused on Daryl's interaction with the group the day after his brother died. It's something I really missed on the show. Not only did I find Merle's death a total waste, but it seemed to go completely unnoticed, almost even for Daryl. _

_Anyway, thank you all for reading :)_

4


	8. Fight Or Flight

Daryl didn't know how people did this. Sometimes they seemed so engaged in a long, unbearable ranting for hours, he just couldn't get far enough from. Worst part was how most of them seemed to enjoy all this meaningless jibber-jabber. He only felt his ears aching. Well, that wasn't entirely true. He had found himself carried away in conversations with Carol, losing track of time to the point that somebody had to show up to replace him in duty watch, or until he noticed the sun had moved in the sky, or until she was wrapping her sweater tighter around her from the change of temperature before realizing how many hours had passed. It might have even happened more times that he'd like to admit, but this was different, because it was Carol; and although Carol could sometimes keep babbling for hours, usually telling old stories with Sophia, she wasn't annoying like everybody else, but that was because Carol wasn't annoying; she was pleasant, although he couldn't really say what made her company so different. Well, what was he? A fuckin' shrink? If the others couldn't be pleasant like Carol was, that was their problem to fix, nothing of his damned business.

And now Rick was standing there, testing the waters between them and looking like shit. Daryl was worried about him. Merle was blood, but Rick was maybe as much of a brother to him as Merle was. He felt guilty at the thought; believing in family that wasn't blood was against everything he had grown up with. Bonds of blood were never trivial technicalities in the Dixon household. Blood came first. But, Rick… Rick was Rick. He was the male equivalent of Carol among the members of the group. Only he was a man. Well, it's not like he considered Carol to be his sister. Carol was… what was Carol? Maggie and Glenn were his friends, Rick even more than that, like best friend, or even more, brother. But, Carol? Why wasn't her face fitting in any of this? Shit. Woman drove him crazy even in her sleep and he couldn't do as much as mentally ostracize her to hell.

And what exactly was he doing now for Christ's sakes? Merle's death didn't mean he had to indulge himself in some kind of profound assessment of his relationships with people around him. Dixons didn't do feelings; they sucked at it. These were his people, period.

Shit, he was becoming a pussy after all. Merle would say they had to send a search squad to look for his pair of balls, if he ever heard him rumbling about what these people meant to him blah, blah, blah. He would laugh his ass off and have the time of his life making fun of him. Well, Merle had gone and gotten himself killed and left him alone so the bastard could go fuck himself as well.

When Rick finally spoke, Daryl was grateful he interrupted his muddled thoughts. "I'm sorry, Daryl," he offered resting his hand on his friend's shoulder.

"We're square."

"You ok?"

Daryl nodded. "You?" he returned the question his eyes drifting on the sheriff's throat.

Rick nodded in return. "Are you still with us then?"

"What kind of question is that, Rick? I came back, didn't I?" Daryl hissed, genuinely offended this time.

Rick nodded again. Message received. "I'm gonna check on Michonne," he said and was gone with a final squeeze on Daryl's shoulder.

Daryl stepped inside the prison and squinted at Carol's cell pondering on what to do next, when Beth with Judith in her arms caught up with him.

"How are you?" she asked, concern spread all over her beautiful face.

Jesus fuckin' Christ. Didn't they have anything more important to do instead of looking at him warily? "Fine," he tried to sound calm. Poor Beth, she was the last person in the world he could blame.

Shit. Where was his fucking anger?

"What's wrong?" he asked before he could stop himself, cocking his head towards Carol's cell.

"Oh, nothing, don't worry."

He wasn't worried, damn it. Just asking.

"Rick and Carol only went to bed like three hours ago. She's just exhausted, I guess," Beth explained.

Shit, he still wasn't convinced. Rick was already up. Why Carol wasn't? He hated this growing knot in his stomach and the fact that his heart was racing even at the thought that something might be wrong with her. All he wanted to do was to step into her cell and wake her up. Fuck.

"Wanna hold her? She is quiet now," Beth offered, drawing his attention back to her and the baby.

He nodded and reached out his arms. In seconds, Lil' Ass Kicker was comfortably settled in his embrace looking perfectly content with her situation. The way Daryl had with this baby was the biggest mystery of the world for everyone in the group, himself included.

"I'll be outside, if she needs anything," Beth said and walked away.

He was mesmerized by the little creature in his arms. "Hi, sweetheart, are you done crying now? Little belly of yours full? This is what all this wailing was for? You sure are a girl who knows how to get what she wants, ain't you?" he smiled tickling her with his index.

Daryl walked down the hallway and sat in the stairs casting glances to Carol's still frame. These two women had him wrapped around their little fingers. Fuck.

When she finally stirred and he knew she was awakening, he felt relief. She was ok. He didn't mind her company that much after all. Carol knew him, she wouldn't expect him to be fucking peachy and emotional after what happened last night. Being able to even look at her after what she witnessed was a fucking accomplishment.

"Did you get any sleep?" she smiled from the entrance of her cell stretching groggily.

"Yeah. You?"

"Hm…" she mumbled between yawning and rubbing her eyes and he had to restrain his crooked smile before blooming across his face. He was gonna be stubbornly cranky today to avoid talking about his feelings. The die was cast.

"I think I kinda passed out. Don't believe I didn't hear all the fussing. I feel like I could sleep for a week. May I hold her?" she tried to keep the conversation going, walking closer and leaning over Judith.

"In a while," he scolded her, but a smile twitched in the corner of his lips. "Can't always have it your way, it's my turn now." God, he was a helpless piece of shit when it came down to Carol, wasn't he?

Carol grinned, teeth and everything and he felt his stomach jolting.

She wanted to ask him how he was doing, but it was clear that this simple question, the simplest of them all truly, was way beyond the limit for him. Actually she was shocked he was even standing there; she'd bet anything he'd be too embarrassed to speak to her for a while.

"We're gathering in ten minutes in the yard." Beth's blonde head popped from the corner.

"Ok, sweetie," Carol replied.

"What's all this gathering 'bout?" he growled. "Celebrating Beth didn't burn the stew?" There, cranky.

She chuckled. Cranky it was then; good. Better than withdrawing himself away from them. "No, we're voting."

"Voting for what?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Stay and fight or leave," she said looking around for her sweater.

His eyes narrowed, but she missed it. There was a fucking debate then? Fight or flight? He felt anger and rage effortlessly throbbing through his veins for the first time since his woke up. He had unfinished business here and Dixons never left unfinished business behind. Didn't they know by now?

"What's your vote?" he asked sullenly while she was putting her sweater on, wrapping it tightly around her middle section.

"Leave." Receiving a hard look she could only interpret as a glare, she instantly felt the need to explain herself. "There is no reason to stay here and get killed from a crazy bastard. This prison is a safe haven from walkers, but it's not the first time we'll be out in the open. We survived then, we can do it again. I'd rather fight walkers than real people. I mean, I don't know; if we were just a bunch of grown-ups, maybe fighting for this place would make more sense. But we have Beth and Carl and Judith to think about. Putting their lives in danger or risk leaving them with no one to protect them… It's just not worth it", her eyes darkened. "I'm done failing my children."

Fuck. Sophia. Fuck. She was right. "You're right," he agreed grudgingly.

"You're gonna vote for us to leave then?" she asked surprised, hope warming her chest.

"Yeah. You should all leave," he grunted, avoiding her eyes.

"What do you mean "we"? What about you?" What did he mean? What was he going to do? She felt her heart skipping a beat.

"I have to stay," he stated dryly.

"Why?" she almost yelled her despair.

"He killed Merle, I kill him. Simple as that." And with that, we walked out with the baby still in his arms, leaving her breathing heavily with wild eyes.

Carol felt her knees buckle. Of course, she should have known this much.

* * *

_**That was it :) I hope you liked this chapter. This story is very different from my other one and really challenging for me to write, because I have to think about all the characters interacting together even if it's mainly focused on Daryl and Carol. **_

_**As someone mentioned, it's kind of a behind the scenes footage, my intake of what we never saw on screen. So, next chapter is the vote :) I was really excited in episode 15 when Rick announced they all get to vote about leaving or fighting. I thought it was a great opportunity to shed light to the character's most inner thoughts and priorities and the way they evaluate things, so I got really disappointed when the vote supposedly happened off screen.**_

_**Anyway, thank you all for reading :)**_


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